“Early bird gets the dick,” Kate says solemnly.
“Ugh. Whatever.” Alisha slams her cup on the table and pouts. “She’s all talk anyway. Sutton doesn’t do casual sex. She’s not going to fall into bed with some guy she doesn’t even—” Alisha stops abruptly, her jaw dropping.
I follow her gaze just in time to see Cooper and Sutton leaving the bar together.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
MACKENZIE
The next morning, my media culture class is canceled. The professor sends a mass email that defies the laws of oversharing, informing us that his bowels had revolted against the meatloaf his wife prepared for dinner last night.
I feel your pain, bud. My stomach’s been in knots since I saw Cooper leave the Rip Tide with his arm slung around Sutton.
Did they have sex? I feel queasy at the thought. And a little angry. How could he fall into bed with some chick he’d known for 2.5 seconds? Or maybe they didn’t sleep together. Maybe she just blew him.
A red mist overtakes my field of vision at the thought of Sutton going down on Cooper. I want to rip his dick off for letting her touch it.
Hmm. Okay.
Maybe I’m more than a “little” angry.
But I’m not allowed to feel that way. Cooper is not my boyfriend. Preston is. I’m not allowed to have an opinion about who Cooper hooks up with, and I certainly shouldn’t be reaching for my phone right now and pulling up our chat thread and—
Me: You didn’t have to do that on my account. And by “do that,” I mean Sutton.
Damn it. What is wrong with me? I regret sending the text the moment it appears on the screen. I frantically tap at the screen in search of an unsend option, but that’s not how text messages work.
And now Cooper is typing a response.
Heart beating wildly, I sit up in bed and inwardly curse myself for my lack of self-control.
Cooper: Oh we’re talking again?
Me: No. We’re not.
Cooper: Cool. Later.
I stare at my phone in frustration. I’m more frustrated with myself than with him, though. I told him we couldn’t be friends. I literally said, “Goodbye, Cooper.” Last night I called him Evan and all but threw him at my single friends so that Melissa wouldn’t suspect anything and tell Benji. This is on me. Of course Cooper doesn’t want to talk to me.
And yet my stupid fingers have a mind of their own.
Me: I’m just saying. Thanks for playing along when I called you Evan, but you didn’t have to go full-on method acting.
Cooper: Hey princess? How about you worry more about your boyfriend’s dick and less about mine?
I want to scream. I wish I’d never met Cooper Hartley. Then I wouldn’t be feeling this way. All twisted up inside. Not to mention the jealousy eating at my throat like battery acid thanks to his reply. Is he saying his dick was a factor last night, then?
I’m three seconds away from asking Kate for Sutton’s number so I can confirm exactly what happened last night, when common sense settles in. If my goal last night was to ensure Melissa wouldn’t get suspicious, going batshit crazy on Sutton won’t help the cause.
Utilizing every iota of willpower I possess, I shove my phone aside and grab my laptop. No class means more time for work, which is always a great distraction.
I check my email, but there’s nothing pressing that needs to be addressed. The matter with Tad and his micropenis has blown over, thank God. And my mods and ad managers are reporting that September was our best month yet in term of revenue. It’s the kind of news any business owner should be thrilled to hear, and don’t get me wrong, I am thrilled. But as I spend the next couple hours doing basic business housekeeping, the frustration returns, rising in my throat. I have the sudden urge to get off campus for a walk. Sick of the same old scenery. Sick of my obsessive thoughts about Cooper.
Ten minutes later, I’m in a cab heading for Avalon Bay. I need the fresh air, the sunshine. The car drops me off near the pier, and I walk toward the boardwalk, shoving my hands in the pockets of my cutoff shorts. I can’t believe how balmy the temperature is for October, but I’m not complaining. The hot breeze feels like heaven against my face.
When my feet carry me all the way to the hotel, I suddenly realize what motivated me to come here today. The same thrill of possibility surges through my blood upon finding the hotel still sitting empty. Waiting.
It’s crazy, but as I stare at the derelict building, my body starts humming. Even my fingers are itching, like a metaphorical need to get my hands moving. Is this the challenge I’d been looking for? This condemned hotel I can’t quit fantasizing about?